


「Wintergreens；如夏長、冬藏」

by yuren



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Feet, M/M, hopefully this is as amusing for you as it was for me to write, i don't even know why i wrote this when i'm personally not a big fan of feet, this isn't a foot fetish fic but nothing against foot fetishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29033922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuren/pseuds/yuren
Summary: You know when it’s a midsummer’s dog day, and all you can think of is how winter is your favourite season?Well, it’s winter now, it’s really fucking cold, and all you can think of is how summer can’t come fast enough.(Inspired by my own cold hands and feet.)
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	「Wintergreens；如夏長、冬藏」

You know when it’s a midsummer’s dog day, and all you can think of is how winter is your favourite season?

Well, it’s winter now, it’s really fucking cold, and all you can think of is how summer can’t come fast enough.

This isn’t a “the grass is greener” kind of situation. It’s a “everything else is fine and dandy and life in general is going as good as it can be except that you have somehow pissed off Satan’s little brother and have been temporarily sent to petty hell” kind of situation.

Tonight’s petty hell is a pretty darn annoying place where you’re trying to sleep except your toes feel like they’ll literally freeze off like a withering leaf falling from a neglected shrub. But your feet aren’t lacking water; they’re very hydrated. It’s just that any and all liquid stored in your capillaries have been reduced to an ice cold, solid state.

You can’t sleep. Your brain is tell you to sleep but your toes are triggering your nervous system with little permafrost bites reminding you that you’re very cold, it’s very cold, and the comforter isn’t comforting.

You try to suppress a groan lest you wake up the snoring body next to you. At least Makki’s in a sweet, pleasant sleep. 

He’s got an interview tomorrow; you’re the one that had forced him to bed early. His sleeping face is calming to look at — it’s genuinely relaxed, his perpetual smirk a little softer in this state, and your favourite moments are when his face scrunches up like a baby leopard’s. When this happens, he’ll unconsciously tighten his hold on your waist just a fraction, his arm providing a lovely weight that heats up that one strip of your torso like a single heating rod in an oven.

But it’s not enough.

You try to shimmy even closer to him, hoping that his lanky body would provide you with a bit more of the warmth that you seek.

The ends of his non-strawberry hair tickle your forehead as you snuggle into his neck. His hair’s gotten a little too long, and even Makki himself complains about how it sticks to his neck in a static mess whenever he unwraps his scarf.

You'd have to remind him again to cut it, hopefully before his next interview. For now, you’ll just have to shimmy backwards and carefully sweep the strands back.

Oh.

You pause.

He’s _really_ warm.

Your touch lingers on the junction between his jaw and his neck, the milky expanse of skin radiating a heat you desperately crave.

When his breath continues to steadily fall up and down, you proceed to gingerly press the pads of your fingers onto his skin.

A soft sigh escapes you. Just a few seconds and it’s already doing wonders for your circulation.

You stay like this for a little longer, letting the warmth of another body kindle your own.

As feeling comes back to your hands, the frost in your toes remind you of the southern pole. 

Wriggling the antarctic digits around, you desperately try to generate heat in those small capillaries.

But this solo ignition isn’t working, and you don’t want to risk waking Makki up with frantic midnight toe exercises. 

If only he could warm your feet up as well. 

Then you realize, he can. 

The man’s not even wearing pants! His feet must be toasty warm.

You sure hope he likes cold feet, especially yours. 

Peeking up at him, you take a small breath in before experimentally tapping your feet against his.

Your eyes are glued to his face.

No reaction.

A relieved exhale.

Carefully, you advance towards the next step, pressing the face of your feet up against his.

He’s still sound asleep.

A small grin stretches over your face.

Victory is near, and you can almost taste the lull of sweet, hard-earned sleep as you execute the last step.

Stretching out your toes, you press them onto his skin.

You barely dodge the violent kick jerking your way.

All at once, his body rips away from you as his limbs shoot out, and when you tumble back yourself, his hand hurtles out to stable your side, eyes flying open.

You stare back at him in equal shock.

“What happening?” he mumbles groggily, his voice hoarse from confusion and sleep.

“Oh shoot,” you mutter under your breath. “I’m sorry, Hiro. Go back to sleep.”

“Babe, what did you do?” he groans. “Felt like the kiss of death or something.”

“Hey,” you pout, “those are my lovely toes you’re insulting there, Takahiro.”

Out of pettiness, you reach a freezing hand to his neck again.

“Nuh uh, no you don’t,” he frowns, hand coming up to grab yours before you can do anymore damage. “You’re not touching me with those devil’s icicles.”

“But they’re cold,” you pout. “So are my feet.”

You wiggle them around, making the blanket ruffle as if to emphasize your point.

The unimpressed look he gives you tells you that yeah, he is very much aware that they’re cold.

“Hiro, lemme hook my feet to yours.”

He stares at you.

“The fuck?” His brows are furrowed in disbelief. “That’s _so_ gross.”

“But my capillaries’ll vaporize into gas soon.”

“The heck are you talking about,” he groans. “Can’t believe Mattsun calls _me_ the weird one in this relationship.”

“You are,” you grin. “So can we hold feet?”

“It’s a firm no from me, babe,” he snorts. “Go put on socks or something.”

“That’s against the force of nature,” you frown.

Wearing socks in bed is just frankly unnatural. But Hanamaki doesn’t seem like he’ll budge on the issue of linking toes with you.

With a small smile, you poke him on his t-shirt clad chest. “Hey, go sleep. Sorry for waking you up.”

He looks at you for a moment. You blink back, and then he’s squinting at you before he runs a hand over his face.

“Babe,” he sighs, “just— ugh, gimme a sec.”

With small pat on your shoulder — _it’s so warm_ — he gets up from the bed in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers, and yanks open the bedside closet. You almost want to cry at disappearance of your source of warmth.

You watch him with longing, following his movement as Hanamaki stops to consider something, eventually grabbing a pair of sweatpants and putting them on before joining you in bed again.

“‘Kay, babe,” he looks firmly at you, holding your cold face in his warm hands. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

You nod as he gives your cheeks a little squeeze. If he has a solution to your arctic tips, then you’re more than happy to go with his flow.

“You saw the sweatpants?”

You nod again.

“Your kisses of death — yes, I’m talking about your toes — are gonna go onto the sweatpants,” he announces proudly.

You blink. “They’re gonna what?”

“Like this,” he grins. 

Leaning towards you, he shifts until his hand meets your right ankle. Gently, he guides it up, slotting one foot in between his sweatpants-clad calves.

Your mouth forms an “o”. Your toes are definitely getting warmer. 

“Better?” Hanamaki smirks.

“Yeah,” you say in amazement, melting into his touch as he brings his hand back up to wrap around you waist. “Hiro, you’re a genius.”

“I know,” he laughs. “Now go to sleep.”

You’re about to lean in before you pull away with a small frown.

“What about my hands?”

“You mean your devil’s icicles?” he chuckles. His other hand shifts, and he takes both of yours in his. 

“I’d usually say go warm ‘em up at fireplace.” He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you’re already groaning at what’s undoubtedly going to be a cheesy followup. “But I’m hotter.”

“Hiro,” you snort, “we don’t have a fireplace.”

“Well then, that makes things easier.” His grin doesn’t drop, and he gives your hands a little squeeze. “I’ll just have to warm ‘em up myself.”

With a gentle tug, he pulls you into him again, trapping your hands right at his chest. Hanamaki secures the blankets around you two as he breathes a few puffs of warm air onto your hands. 

You almost moan at the upgraded bastion of warmth that surrounds you whole.

“That good?”

“Mhm.”

“Babe, after the interview tomorrow, I can show you something even warm—“

“Hiro, go to sleep,” you cut him off with a sigh.

He laughs before giving your forehead a quick peck. 

“Aye, aye, captain.”

You snuggle back under his neck, inching a little closer to press a soft kiss to the junction between his jaw and his neck, where your lips linger as you smile into his skin. 

“Love you, Takahiro.”

“Love you too, babe,” he grins, milky skin fluctuating with the warmth of summertide affections. 

Your warm laughter brings his skin to a balmy high, and his sleepy “good night” paves you the sweet dreams of a midsummer’s sky. 

The night’s adventure in petty hell is all but forgotten. With your smile still pressed against your lover’s heated skin, the first thought you wake up to is that with love, summer can wait a little longer. 


End file.
